After Aman's speech, the stage was claimed by another faculty member, an older woman with silver-streaked hair pulled back into a tight bun and a face that looked like it had forgotten how to smile sometime in the distant past. She carried a leather-bound ledger that she set on the podium with a solid thud, opening it with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.
"First-year students," she began, her voice sharp and carrying easily across the hall despite lacking the force Aman had commanded, "you will now be assigned to your respective classes. When your name is called, stand and acknowledge. Your class designation will determine your curriculum, your instructors, and your dormitory assignments for the remainder of the year."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"Class assignments are based on evaluation of your entrance examinations, your family records, and assessments provided by the headmaster's office. They are final. There will be no appeals, no transfers, no exceptions."
The hall seemed to hold its breath.
She looked down at the ledger, adjusted her spectacles, and began.
"Class A-1," she announced. "The following students will report to Instructor Kaelen in the East Wing, third floor, Room 301."
A-1.
The designation hung in the air like a banner. The top tier class. The one reserved for those deemed exceptional, whether by birth, talent, or both.
"Aeriel Veyran," the woman called.
The silver-haired girl rose smoothly from her seat, her movements fluid and unhurried. She didn't look around, didn't acknowledge the stares that immediately fixed on her. She simply stood, inclined her head once in acknowledgment, and sat back down.
Aeriel Veyran.
Not her real name, of course. A constructed identity, carefully crafted to hide the truth. But hearing it spoken aloud in this formal setting gave it weight, made it feel real in a way that Volneir's quiet explanation in the inn had not quite managed.
The woman continued down her list.
"Theodore Valtair Roosevelt."
My turn.
I stood, feeling the weight of attention shift toward me. Eyes from all directions, measuring, cataloging, deciding whether I belonged in the same class as the elegant silver-haired noble who had just been called. I kept my expression neutral, gave the same small nod Aeriel had offered, and sat back down.
Class A-1.
The headmaster had been right. We would share classes. Be seen beside each other. Watched.
"Cassian Hartwell."
Another name. A boy near the front rose, tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of build that suggested he spent more time in training yards than libraries. His face was calm but his eyes held a sharp intelligence that belied any assumption of simple muscle. I recognized the family name vaguely from Theodore's inherited memories. Another noble house, not as prominent as Valtair but respected nonetheless.
"Elira Fenwick."
A girl with dark hair and darker eyes stood. She was small, almost delicate in appearance, but something in the way she moved suggested coiled strength beneath the surface. I didn't recognize the name. Not a major noble house, then. Perhaps minor nobility, or even a commoner who had tested exceptionally well.
The woman paused, her finger hovering over the page, and for a moment something flickered across her expression. Surprise, perhaps. Or disapproval quickly masked.
"Kael Rendis," she said, and this time the murmur that passed through the hall was audible.
A boy stood from several rows back, his movements slower, more uncertain than those who had risen before him. He wore the same academy uniform as the rest of us, but it fit differently on him, as if he hadn't quite grown into it yet. His hair was a muddy brown, unkempt despite obvious attempts to tame it. His face bore none of the aristocratic refinement that marked most of the other A-1 students.
A commoner.
In Class A-1.
The whispers intensified. Some students leaned toward their neighbors, speaking behind raised hands. Others simply stared, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright skepticism.
Kael Rendis stood there, alone in the attention, and said nothing. But his jaw was set, his shoulders squared despite the obvious discomfort. He had earned his place here, somehow, and he wasn't going to apologize for it.
The woman waited for the murmurs to die down, her expression unchanging, then continued.
"Seraphine Lucent."
Another noble name, this one carrying significant weight. A girl rose, her movements precise and controlled, her blonde hair catching the light like spun gold. The Lucent family was known even in my fragmented memories –a house specializing in light-based divine arts, their members often serving as healers or in positions requiring absolute trust. She looked every bit the part, radiating a kind of serene confidence that made it impossible to imagine her failing at anything.
A few more names followed. Each one another piece in the puzzle that was Class A-1. High-ranking nobles, mostly. A second commoner whose name I didn't catch but whose presence drew similar whispers. A prodigy from a house I'd never heard of but whose talent must have spoken loudly enough to earn them a place.
When the last name was called, the woman closed the ledger with a decisive snap.
"Class A-1, you are dismissed to find your classroom. Instructor Kaelen will meet you there. Do not be late."
She moved on without pause.
"Class A-2," she announced. "The following students will report to..."
I stopped listening closely, but I caught Lannorr's name when it was called.
"Lannorr Valtair Feymim."
He stood, his expression carefully controlled, but there was a tightness around his eyes, a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth that betrayed his irritation. Class A-2 was still prestigious. Still a mark of status. But it wasn't A-1, and for someone like Lannorr, who clearly measured his worth by how far above others he could position himself, that distinction mattered.
He sat back down with movements that were just a fraction too stiff, too deliberate. Annoyed.
The assignments continued through the alphabet of class designations. A-3, A-4, then B-tier classes, C-tier, each tier another step down the invisible ladder that this ceremony was constructing in real time.
When the final name had been called and the final class assigned, the woman with the ledger stepped back, allowing another faculty member to take the podium.
"Students," the man said, his voice warm where the woman's had been cold, "you are now dismissed to locate your assigned classrooms. Maps are posted in the corridors. Senior students wearing red armbands are available to assist if you become lost. First classes will begin tomorrow morning at eight o'clock precisely. Do not be late."
A pause, then a slight smile.
"Welcome to the academy."
The hall erupted into motion.
Students rose, some eagerly, others with visible reluctance, and began filing out through the various exits. Conversations resumed, louder now, freed from the enforced silence of the ceremony. Groups formed instinctively, nobles gravitating toward other nobles, commoners clustering together for safety in numbers.
I stood and moved with the flow, letting the crowd carry me toward the nearest exit. Ahead of me, I caught glimpses of silver hair as Aeriel navigated the press of bodies with the same unhurried grace she had shown since the moment I first saw her.
Somewhere behind me, Lannorr was probably complaining to his circle of followers about the injustice of his class assignment.
And scattered throughout the crowd were the other members of Class A-1, each one a question mark, a potential ally or rival or something in between.
The East Wing. Third floor. Room 301.
I followed the flow of students into the corridor, my eyes scanning the posted maps until I found the route. The academy was enormous, a maze of hallways and staircases and wings that branched off in directions I hadn't fully processed yet.
But I had time to learn.
Class A-1.
The top tier.
Where the hidden princess sat with forged identity.
Where a commoner had fought his way in against all odds.
Where I, a soul from another world wearing a borrowed name and body, would have to prove I belonged.
I climbed the stairs toward the third floor, each step carrying me further into this new life, and wondered what kind of person I would become by the time I walked back down them.